


An ode to the common cold

by Mossgreen



Series: 2770 ab urbe condita [32]
Category: 2770 ab urbe condita - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Master/Slave, References to Illness, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 20:15:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16226537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mossgreen/pseuds/Mossgreen
Summary: Ven's not feeling well. His master takes pity on him.





	An ode to the common cold

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry you've waited ages and it's so short!
> 
> But I call bingo on my kink_bingo card! (Line not through the middle; though I still intend to do a full blackout!) This is for the square 'medical kink' - I'd hoped to be able to get 'Inspection Time' to fill that, but it didn't take enough of the story and I couldn't really justify calling bingo on a third of a fic!

Things had been building for a couple of days, but Ven knew there was no hope when he woke in the morning with a blocked nose and a head that felt stuffed with cotton-wool. He managed to dress despite feeling mostly like a Lemur who'd been left behind after Lemuria. He couldn't prevent the sneeze, nor the dry coughing fit that followed it.

"I'be sorry, Master," he said, once he'd regained his equilibrium enough to notice that his master was sitting on the side of his bed, sleep-tunic rumpled and hair sticking up every-which-way.

"You look awful," his master informed him, which Ven already knew.

"I'be sorry, Master," he said again, helplessly, fighting the cotton-wool fog in his head to think what he should do – get one of Master's tunics out for when he'd finished his shower. Except Master had already touched the intercom button.

There was a knock at the door and Moss presented himself, a look of confusion flickering across his face for a second as he registered Ven's presence and the master's state of disarray. It lasted no longer than a second, being replaced by the bland blank look all slaves adopted when awaiting instructions.

"You will assist me to shower and dress this morning; Ven is unwell."

"Yes, Master."

"Priapus' prick, Ven! Go and find those trousers I bought you for Britannia, then take yourself, and a blanket, and find yourself a couch in the atrium. You may watch what you like on television; I can't think that I'll get any sense out of you if you attempted to do any work today. I'll work from home if I need to; there are no meetings scheduled for today, thank all the gods. Moss, see if you can find him a handkerchief – preferably half-a-dozen, actually, I think he's going to need them. And tell Grumio to whip up an eggnog or something. Don't look so pathetically grateful, Ven, it's irritating!"

"Yes, Master." Moss vanished on his errand.

"Yes, Master. Sorry, Master," Ven said, interrupted by a sneeze before he could find the trousers in question and pull them on. They _were_ nice and warm, soft and with a fleecy sort of lining, but with an unfamiliar tightness around his legs; he had never worn trousers before the trip to Britannia, and even his tunics were hemmed above the knee. He found the zip-up top, too, and pulled that on as well.

* * *

It was a nice, warm fluffy blanket that he tucked around himself as he claimed his master's usual couch in the atrium, out of the way of any callers (not that there were any expected today; it was a Wednesday and that was the midweek day Master's clients had off). He was a little astonished when Willow and Junio followed Moss out from the slave-quarters; Junio carrying a steaming mug and Willow with what looked suspiciously like a stack of magazines. 

Moss pulled a side-table up to be within easy reach for Ven, setting down a small stack of handkerchiefs, before heading back into Master's room while Willow put down all the back issues of _Ave! serve_ that had been in the break-room, and Junio set the mug down, and passed the TV's remote control to Ven before crossing the atrium to ensure the set was actually switched on.

"You really don't have to..." Ven protested weakly, feeling a little overwhelmed. The emotion brought on a coughing fit, and he slumped back once the coughing stopped.

"No, but I think Master would _crucify_ us if we didn't, and I have no intention of dying screaming in agony today,” Willow pointed out. "If you can't concentrate on _Ave_ , there's all the Asterix books if you'd prefer those. Hades, I'll get them anyway."

"You don't have to," Ven repeated, and fumbled to get a handkerchief to his nose as he sneezed, and sneezed again, and sneezed a third time. He sighed. "If you dode mide. Please dode rud aroud for be the whole day, I dode thig I could take it." He blew his nose as Willow headed back in the direction of the slave-quarters.

He flicked through the TV channels without being able to settle on anything, and turned his head as his master came out of his room, followed by Moss.

"Look at you, taking your ease like any spoilt patrician boy," Master said, looking down at him. Ven started to get up. "No, you stay where you are. Though, lift your head."

Ven did so, a little confused as Master sat down, positioning himself so that Ven's head was resting on his thigh, even as he snapped his fingers at Moss, who scurried away to find a footstool.

"Couldn't find anything to watch, pet?" Master said, shifting his position a little as Moss brought a footstool and slid it into place beneath his feet.

"No, Master," Ven said, his nose as stuffed as ever. "Can't concentrate. Head's all... stuffed." He wiped his nose with the hanky again and burrowed a little into his master's side, offering him the remote. " _You_ choose, Master."

He was relieved to hear his master's laugh over his head, and half-rolled over to get at the eggnog Grumio had sent out – not that he could taste it, but it was rich, and warming all the way down. He exchanged the mug for the top issue of _Ave! serve_ from the stack, propping it up against his blanketed legs as his master turned the television channel to the latest repeat of... something inane.

"I'm sorry I... for all this, Master," he said, wiping his nose again before blowing it.

"It's a common cold, Ven, we all have them on occasion. Now shut up and enjoy being ill, for once."

Ven grinned at the double-page spread of _īnstrūmentum vōcale? Philippus explores what this means in everyday servitude._

"Yes, Master."

"There's my good boy, Ven."

There was a slight shift under Ven's head as his master adjusted his position so that he could prop his tablet up to work on it one-handed, carding Ven's hair with the other. Ven turned back to the tattered magazine. It was almost worth the aching joints, stuffed head and blocked nose just to be allowed to laze like this, with nothing more expected of him.

Enjoy being ill for once? Oh, yes, Master!

**Author's Note:**

> Lemur – usually in the plural form Lemures – a spirit of the dead. 
> 
> For the curious, Ven's trousers are pretty much jogging bottoms. (Black, elasticated waist with a drawstring, and elasticated cuffs. Let's be real: his master's not going to buy his slave anything he can't get him out of in a matter of seconds!)
> 
> Asterix probably wouldn't exist in this world in the form we know and love him (I mean, the Roman Empire are the bad guys, as much as anyone is, after all!) but they fit and I really couldn't think of anything else that would work.


End file.
